The Valley Virginian. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1865-1895, 1887-07-28

ROBERT G.. INGERSOL'S TRIBUTE TO
HENRY WARD BEECIIER.
Among the tributes to Henry Ward
Beecher there is one from Robert Inger-
soil. He starts out with the statement
that Henry Ward Beecher was horn in a
Puritan penitentiary, of which his father
was one of the wardens." After vigor-
GUS denunciation of Calvinistic doctrines,
he continues:
Through grated windows of his cell this
child, this boy, this man caught glimpses
of the outer world. of fields and skies.
New thoughts were in his brain, new
hopes within his heart. Another heaven
bent above his life. There came revela-
ton of the beautiful and real. Theology
| grew mean and small.
Nature wooed, and won and saved this
mighty SOUL
| Her countless hands were sowing seeds
within his tropic brain. All sights and
sounds-all colors, forms and fragments
were stored within the treasure of his
! mind. His thoughts were moulded by
| the graceful curves of streams, by wind
| ing paths in woods, the charm of quiet
country roads, and lanes grown indistinct
with weeds and grass-by vines that cling
and hide with leaf and flower the crum-
bling wallis decay-by cattle standing in
| the summer pools like statures of content.
There was within his words the subtle
SnjrIt nf tho 40 0banno-of
thing that is, of everything that lies be-
tween the slumbering seeds, that half
awakened by the April rain, have dreams
of heaven S blue and feel the amorous
kisses of the sun and that strange tomb
wherein the alchemist doth give to deaths
cold dust the tbreb and thrill Of life again, :
He saw with loving eyes the willows of
the meadow streams grow red beneath the
glance of spring-the grass along the
marsh's edge, the stir of life beneath the
withered leaves-the moss below the drip
of snow-the flowers that give their
blooms to the first south wind that woos-
the sad and timid violets that only bear
the gaze of love from eyes half closed-the
ferns, where fancy gives thousand forms
with but a single plan-the green and
sunny slopes, enriched with daisys silver
and the cowslip's gold.
AS in the leafless woods some tree
atlame with life stands like rapt poet in
the needless crowd, so stood this man
among his fellow men.
All there is of leaf Oh bud, of flower, and
fruit, of painted insect life, and all the
winged and happy children of the air that
summer holds beneath her dome of blue
were known and loved by him.
He loved the yellow autumn fields, the
golden stacks, the happy homes of men,
the orchard IS bending boughs, the sumac's |
flags of flame, the maple with TRANSPORTED
leaves, the tender yellow of the beach, the
the wondrous harmonies of brown and |
gold-the vines where hangs the clustered |
spheres of wit and mirth. He loved the |
winter days. the whirl and drift Of snow
all forms of frost-the rage and fury of
the storm, when in the forest, desOlate
and stripped, the brave old pine towers
green and grand-a prophecy of spring.
He heard the rhythmic sound of natures
busy strife, the hum of bees, the songs of
birds, the eagles cry, the murmer OF the
streams, the signs and lamentations of
the wind and all the voices of the sea.
He loved the shores, the Wales. the crags
and cliffs, the city's busy streets. the in
silent plain, the solemn splen-
dor of the night, the silver sea of dawn
and evenings cloud of molten gold.
The love of nature freed this loving man.
One by one the letters fell the gratlngs
the sun shine smote the
roof, and On the floors of stone light
from open doors. He realized
the darkness and dispair, the cruelty and
hate, the starless bIackness of the old,
creed. The flower of pity grew
and blossomed in his heart. The selfish
consolation filled his eyes with tears.
He saw that what is called the Christians
hope is, that among the countless billions
wrecked and lost, meagre few perhaps
reach the eternal shore-a hope that, like
the desert rain, gives neither leaf nor bud
"a hope that gives no joy, in peace. to any
great and loving soul. It is the dust on
which the serpent feeds that coils in heart
less breasts.
To the average man the Christian hell |
and heaven are only words. He has no
scope of thought. He lives but in dim,
now. To him the past is |
dead-the future still unborn. He occp- |
pies with downcast eyes that narrow line
of barren, shifting sand that lies between
the flowing seas. But Genius knows all |
time. For him the dead all live and |
breathe and act their countless parts again. |
All human life is in his now, and every !
moment feels the thrill of all to be.
No one can over-estimate the good ac-
complished by this marvellous, many sided
man. He tried to civilize the church, to
humanize the creeds, to soften pious
breasts of stone, to take the fear from
mothers hearts, the chains of creed from
every brain, to put the star of hope in
every sky and over every grave.
Attacked on every side, maligned by
those who preached the law OF love, he
wavered not, but fought whole.hearted to
the end.
Obstruction is but virtues foil. From
thwarted light leaps color's flame-the
stream impeded has song.
He passed from harsh and cruel creeds
to that serene philosophy that has no place
for pride or hate, that threatens no re-